


Music To His Ears

by Hoodoo



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Doggy Style, Embarrassment, Encouragement, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Mentions of musicals, Missionary Position, Netherworld nastiness, Penis In Vagina Sex, Sounds during sex, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21558685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You've had some bad past experiences during sex. Beetlejuice helps you work through them.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/You, Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 251





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _If you don’t mind I have a request. My request is a reader x B.J. fic where the reader is afraid of making sounds of pleasure while they’re getting it on because of being made fun of for it from past intimate partners. I’ve had this happen to me sadly, so a fanfiction with B.J. helping the reader out and really wanting to hear their voice to would help and heal me a lot._
> 
> I hope you like this, dearest!

A squeak of pleasure slipped past your lips, and you immediately covered your mouth with your hand. Because Beetlejuice was on his knees, fucking you with single-minded determination from behind, you didn’t think he noticed. 

But when he leaned over your back and said huskily between his own moans, “What was that, baby?”, you didn’t answer. You just kept your hand clamped over your mouth. It was difficult, from the pace and the fact that bliss had filled your core, but you managed.

His hips never stopped driving, but somehow Beetlejuice got his fingers around your wrist and pull your hand away from your face. That made you squeak again--in protest, but it sounded the same--as he wrangled it back down onto the mattress, pinning it there. Before you could replace it with your other hand, he did the same thing to it too.

It was an awkward position, on all fours with his weight on you. 

“What’d ya say, babe?” he groaned into your ear again.

You weren’t out of options, though. You simply dropped your chest and used the mattress to muffle anything else that came out of your mouth.

Beetlejuice didn’t repeat his question. Or any question, after that; the position kicked it up a notch for him and in only a few more moments he shoved as hard as he could into you as he came with an opened-mouth, wavering cry. That sent another strong wave of pleasure through you as well, and you bit down to keep noise to a minimum.

He was tense for several seconds, then he pulled out and wilted into a collapse beside you.

You flipped to your side and he opened an arm so you could move closer to him, so you put your head in the crook of the limb, on his shoulder. 

While you panted for breath, your fingers scratched delicate lines on his chest. He had no heartbeat, of course, and your mind drifted to the medical inconsistancies of no circulation meant no ability to get an erection, but he did, and he put it to damn fine use . . . you grinned to yourself; why were you even thinking about trying to reason this out, you were sleeping with a ghost--

“I hope you’re smiling because of my amazing sexual performance, baby,” Beetlejuice said, interrupting your train of thought, “but I’m not quite sure.”

You looked up at him without raising your head. His ego always liked a little stroking, but in this case it was true. “Yes! It felt so good, Beej!” 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

“You always make me feel good!” you insisted.

“That’s what you say now,” he replied. “But it never seems to be the case while we’re doing it.”

You lifted and cocked your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Beetlejuice shrugged his opposite shoulder. “You _tell_ me you come, and I believe you because you get so wet and I can feel your pussy clench on my fingers and on my dick, but you never make any noise.”

You put your head back down on him so you didn’t have to look at him, so he wouldn’t see the panic and sadness on your face. 

“I’m just quiet, that’s all,” you muttered. 

He pinched you. 

“Ouch!” you complained, and nipped his chest in retaliation. 

He laughed and pinched you again. You bit him with a little more intent, mock growling as you did. He finally relented and didn’t repeat it. The two of you settled a little closer.

“You’re not quiet,” he said, but you didn’t answer him. 

_tbc . . ._


	2. Chapter 2

Another night, another lay. 

You’d come on his fingers twice and his cock once, and even though you were on your back with Beetlejuice between your thighs, pushing them up and back so he could pile-drive his cock into you at an angle, your hand was once again over your mouth. Sometimes you couldn’t contain a gasp underneath it, but overall you kept quiet. When Beetlejuice was particularly forceful, it felt so good that you had to bite your lower lip, and that helped too.

Tonight he didn’t finish inside you. Just as his own ghostly moans ratcheted to a cry, he pulled out and with his hand squeezing his cock, he came in spurts over your belly and pubic hair. 

A tiny sound of disappointment escaped you.

Although he’d watched himself come on you, Beetlejuice cocked an eyebrow at your groan. 

“So you _can_ make noise,” he announced, half-tired from the exertion and half-gleeful, like he’d caught you doing something illicit.  


In response you slapped his chest and threw one leg around him to move away and grab a tissue from the bedside table to wipe yourself off.

Beetlejuice lay down and accepted the extra tissue you handed him. 

“Sorry about the jizz,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “I know it’s cold.”

“It’s not cold at first, it _gets_ cold quickly,” you corrected him. You had no idea why that would be; the properties of ectoplasmic ejaculate were odd. It didn’t just lose any residual heat exponentially fast, it was also faintly luminous and thicker than normal. It wasn’t the most pleasant substance to have sitting for long periods of time on your bare skin. 

You balled up the soiled tissue, plucked the one he’d used on himself out of his hands, and tossed them in the general direction of the table. Then you grabbed the rumpled sheet from where it’d been kicked at the end of the bed and pulled it up to your chest before relaxing.

Beetlejuice hiked himself up on an elbow to look at you, and reached over to push your sweaty hair off your forehead. Usually you were the one to initiate post-coital niceties, so you were surprised at the contact. 

“Let’s talk about it.”

Him wanting to talk surprised you too.

“Talk about what?”

He gave you a withering look. “You know what I mean, babe. Let’s talk about the fact that you try hard not to make any sound during sex.”  


If you could have, you’d have denied it. You hoped he hadn’t noticed! You didn’t want to talk about it. It made you ashamed. Making noise made you ashamed, not making noise made you ashamed; it was a vicious cycle. You worked so very hard to keep quiet–-

Beetlejuice continued, filling your new silence with questions to try and ferret out the truth, speculating, “Did you stop making noise for a reason? Did you get caught by your parental figures once? Are you secretly an exhibitionist who typically has sex in public places like crowded subways or in the audience of a Broadway musical? Do you sing as you come? You’ve got a good voice, I’ve heard you in the shower-–”

“No, Beej, no! Nothing like that!” you interrupted. 

“What, then? Come on, babydoll, you can tell me! What is it?”

At his unrelenting insistence all the shame you felt was replaced by a flare of anger. 

_“I just sound weird while I’m having sex, okay?”_ you barked at him.

His mouth shut with an audible snap and his playful expression melted to confusion. Your momentary burst of rage faded too, and you felt even more embarrassed admitting your shame out loud. Your face felt on fire. 

After closely examining you for a moment, Beetlejuice asked, “What the actual fuck?”

His seriousness, the question spoken like an eloquent, formal query, actually made you choke out a tiny laugh, which quickly dissolved into a sob that you swallowed. He let you have a moment, then asked again, 

“What do you mean, you sound weird during sex?”

Another sob scratched at the back of your throat and you shook your head, unwilling to open your mouth to let it out. 

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you quack like a duck? Do you cough like you need the Heimlich?” His eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god, was I right–- _do you sing?_ Do you burst into spontaneous song?! All of the sudden, would I hear OOOOOOaK! LAHOMA?!”

A weepy laugh burst from your throat. The horror in his face, you realized, was mock.

“No!” you said, slapping his chest again and swiping a hand over your eyes to wipe away the tear that had formed there. “Stop it! I don’t start singing.”

Beetlejuice nodded, but his eyes still narrowed in suspicion. “You have to tell me if you do. Because I only want to hear seventies rock or Irish folk, okay? Maybe other popular songs from musicals. No Disney songs or crap like that.”

“Shut up, Beej.”

To his credit, he actually dropped the topic. After a moment’s quiet, though, he said,

“Why do you think you sound weird during sex? Everyone sounds weird during sex!”

You closed your eyes and whispered, “I sound the worst.”

“Hey. Hey!” the ghost said. His fingers slipped to the side of your head and turned you so you were facing him, even if your eyes were closed. He ordered, “Look at me.”

Resigned, you did. 

“The Netherworld is filled with miserable ghosts. They’re always sobbing and wailing. Demons just scream randomly.”

That was supposed to make you feel better?

He closed his eyes as he continued. “And there’s this low frequency hum … I don’t know what the fuck that is, but it’s insidious and just, just always _there._ Like a vibration that just settles on the back of your teeth. The whole place is just this unrelenting, throbbing nightmare of sound.”

Beetlejuice opened his eyes again and stared intently into yours.

“Sounds during sex are not the same, baby,” he told you softly, earnestly, like he needed you to understand how important this information was. “Moans during sex are living sounds, and everything I hear in the Netherworld, all the moaning and crying and that infernal hum, is gloom and suffering. It’s all just _dead.”_

He paused and you watched a subtle expression cross his face, one that made his eyebrows furrow a little. The look in his eyes became a little vacant, introspective; he didn’t see you.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. 

After a second, Beetlejuice gave himself a tiny shake and came back. He licked his lips and grinned. You imagine he’d have clapped his hands if one elbow wasn’t still supporting himself up.

“So! As long as you don’t sound like you’re suffering eternal torment, I’m sure the noises you make while we’re gettin’ it on are fine!” 

He’d given you a lot to think about. Discussions of what the Netherworld was like were never high on his list; dragging information out of him was nigh impossible. It was just moments like that, unexpected and with you not prepared, that he gave up some secrets about it. It left you both wanting and not wanting to know more about the place he resided. 

But that was neither here nor there at the moment. Beetlejuice had his reasons for not talking about the Netherworld, and you had yours about keeping quiet during sex.

You told him so, expressly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Once more, his dark eyes narrowed. You tried to ignore him and his unspoken needling. When it became obvious you might be prepared to never speak again, Beetlejuice broke the silence once more. 

“Come on baby. I already told you it can’t be that bad. And even if it is, I don’t care-–”

That same anger reared its head again, and you spit, “You _will_ care! I sound horrible! I sound stupid and ridiculous and, and–and I’ve been _told_ that, so I know it’s true, I hate it and I won’t make any sound! I just _won’t!”_

And like before, as quickly as it’d come, the rage burned itself out again, leaving you with tears in your eyes and a sore throat. 

Beetlejuice didn’t recoil at the venom in your voice. His fingers ran through your hair again, now dampened above your ears by the tears that slid from the outer corners of your eyes.

“Somebody told you that, baby?” he asked quietly. 

“Y-yes!” you choked out. “He told me I sounded weird and stupid, and-and-and I know it’s true!”

The ghost watched you as you struggled to regain some control by holding your breath and letting it out slowly. When you finally calmed yourself, he pulled you closer. His hand never left your head and he didn’t move off his elbow; you were simply at one spot on the mattress and then in the next, without any more physical contact. You ended up pressed into him, but it wasn’t horribly uncomfortable. 

“Baby, listen. Listen to me,” he said, and you thought that was a poor choice of words when this whole thing was about keeping quiet. “I want to hear you the sounds you make. I want to make you moan and gasp and cry out. I want to know what you sound like when you come. I want to know that _I_ did that, that you couldn’t help it because I made you feel so good. 

“That guy was an asshole, baby. He was _wrong.”_

You pressed your lips together, but tried hard not to shake your head no.

He wouldn’t have taken it for an answer anyway. 

“The sounds you’re gonna make for me? That’s the sound of _life,_ babydoll, and it’ll be music to my ears.”

_tbc …_


	3. Chapter 3

The very next time you slept with him, the very next _night,_ Beetlejuice told you he wanted to hear you. But even if the wall your resolve had made was starting to crumble, habit kept your lips sealed. His standard hard fucking felt good, you liked it, but he didn’t elicit any overt noises from you. 

It was still a good romp, however, and when it was done you were tired and sore in a pleasant way. You drifted off even as he studied you. 

Then you were busy and it kept you out of the house for long hours, so you didn’t even think about sex for a bit. Beetlejuice drifted around aimlessly; you’d see him out of the corner of your eye and your mattress would dip occasionally in the middle of the night as he lay beside you. Sometimes you’d imagine you felt a touch on the back of your neck or fingers running over your hand, but it was nothing like the hardcore contact you’d learned to expect from him. 

It got to be that those unexpected light touches made you shiver. They also made you anticipate the next time you finally did get down and dirty with him, because you did enjoy it.

So when you finally had a chance to catch your breath, Beetlejuice was waiting and ready. 

He’d appeared in your bedroom, of course, while you were dropping your clothes in preparation to crawl into bed. 

“Miss me, baby?”

Truthfully, you admitted you did.

His grin was wide and smug, the brat. Opening his arms, he pulled you to him and kissed you eagerly; you returned it with the same amount of hunger, grasping his shirt in two fists to keep him close. As always, he tasted a bit of dust with a hint of rot. You didn’t care; you were so used to it it was barely noticeable.

You sucked on his lower lip as you disengaged, and walked backward towards the bed, yanking him by his shirt to make him follow you.

“Somebody’s eager,” he remarked wryly. 

“Uh-huh,” you agreed with no shame. The back of your knees hit the mattress and you sat down. That put you in easy contact with his fly, and you looked up at him as your fingers undid the button and tugged at the zipper. 

Just as you’d loosened his trousers enough that you could slip your hand inside, Beetlejuice wriggled out of your grasp. 

“I’m glad you’re so excited, baby,” he said over your wordless protest. “But I’ve got something else in mind.”

“And what is that? You want to fuck me with all your clothes still on?”

He chuckled. “No, I’m willing to get naked.”

“Then do it!” you ordered, and reached to hook your fingers into his fly again. Once more, he wiggled just enough to stay out of your grip. 

He clicked his tongue and held up a finger. “I will on one condition.”

You sighed. “And what condition is that, Beej? You can’t deny you’re turned on!” 

You proved your point by managing to cup his cock, still trapped under fabric. It was stiff under your palm.

“You’re right. You being so hot for me is a huge turn on, baby. But before we do anything about that, you gotta let me do stuff to you.”

Your hand froze. Suspiciously, you asked, “What do you mean?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

Trusting him was never advisable, but you were intrigued. You wondered if you really tried, if you really pushed the issue, if you really touched him, stroked him, sucked him, if he’d give in, but you also wondered what idea he was alluding to. If it was awful, you could just stop him and insist on a straight forward fucking. 

“Okay, Beej,” you finally agreed. “What do you have in mind?”

He licked his teeth and you found yourself sprawled on the mattress. You’d been tossed there with no physical contact on his part, and you gasped a laugh as you bounced. In a blink, he was nude and at your side, up on an elbow looking down on you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes hungrily skipped down your body.

His tongue swiped across his lower lip; you were mesmerized by it. “I am going to _ravish_ you, baby.”

You sucked in your breath at his promise. That was exactly what you wanted, tonight. Beetlejuice knew, and grinned, lifting his eyebrows. 

“However, that condition I mentioned, sweetcheeks? I bet you can guess what it’ll be.”

A rock dropped into your gut, rivaling your arousal. 

Beetlejuice didn’t make you say it out loud, though. 

“I wanna _hear_ you tonight, baby.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat.

“I’ll start off slow,” the ghost told you. “I’m going to make it so good for you, you won’t be able to _not_ make a noise.”

Privately, you thought he might have made too difficult a challenge for himself. Not only were you conditioned to keep quiet, he wasn’t the most patient being you’d ever met. Quick and hard was his standard operating mode. 

But true to his word, for the moment, Beetlejuice just ran his hand over you. Long, sweeping strokes, a ghostly Swedish massage, from shoulders to as far down as he could reach on your legs. His hand warmed quickly, and although he varied the speed he never varied the pressure. Your eyes drifted shut as another hand joined in, because it was soothing. 

Another hand? Beetlejuice hadn’t shifted beside you, the mattress still dipped under his weight, and he was still propped up on an elbow--

“Just relax, baby,” he murmured. Apparently your minor panic was noticeable. “I got you.”

Now there was another hand on your other side, and a fourth lower on your legs. That was ticklish, so you wiggled a little, and he chuckled at your response. It took you too long to realize all the hands were his. Once you did, you relaxed as he requested. You could feel the tension leave you. 

The massage continued for an indeterminate amount of time. You drifted. This wasn’t what you’d planned on this evening--you’d been expecting something more hardcore--but it was nice. 

The hand down by your knees gently levered between your thighs. You felt so loose you parted them, but the hand didn’t move further upward. A tiny sigh of disappointment escaped your lips, but it wasn’t a true sound. 

When, unexpectedly, one of Beetlejuice’s fingers just barely brushed the delicate skin on your pussy, it was such a surprise you did gasp, your eyes flying open in panic and catching his. 

Automatically you clamped a hand over your mouth, and his chuckles shook the both of you. 

“Okay, baby, you can try to keep your sounds behind your palm,” he told you in a low voice, “but that’ll just mean you need to be even louder.”

With that warning, his entire hand cupped your groin. He didn’t grab or pinch you; he simply covered everything between your legs. You jerked a little. His hand was no longer cold, and his longest finger slipped into the perfect position along your slit. It pushed inward and its length went from clit to entrance; he left it there without moving for a moment. 

You couldn’t help it. The smallest whine came from you. The breath to create it couldn’t even be felt in your hand; it was localized solely in your throat. 

Beetlejuice didn’t miss it, however. 

“Mmm-hmm, that’s a good start,” he encouraged. “Let’s keep going, shall we?”

_tbc . . ._


	4. Chapter 4

He didn’t give you time to answer. Not as if you would have disagreed anyway!

Beetlejuice idly stroked you, his finger delving a tiny bit deeper with each strumming. You were wet, but apparently not enough to his liking, because he took his hand away from you and held it up. He made sure you were still watching him as he brought his hand to his face and as he put his first two fingers in his mouth. He licked them shamelessly; you could see his lower jaw flex as his tongue went around them. 

When he extracted them, they were shiny and dripping with spit. 

“Open your legs a little more, babydoll.”

You complied immediately.

His hand dropped back to your pussy. It had lost some of its warmth, having been off your body and his fingers in his mouth, but the combination of the chill and his saliva was an interesting one, so as he repeated dipping his fingers through your folds you canted your hips to allow better access.

Once you were slick enough to his liking, his first two fingers settled on your clit. He was gentle, making barely-there touches to your most sensitive spot. Although it was delicate, you shuddered and a thin sweat broke over you. 

The same reedy whine managed to escape your throat again. 

Beetlejuice grinned and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything this time, though, he simply increased the pressure on your clit. 

Still making small circles, his fingers’ movement deepened the pleasure starting to worm its way through you. Once again you tilted your pelvis to encourage more, and after another quick lick to the tips of his digits, he complied, pressing more heavily onto your clit. 

That pleasure ratcheted upward and your lower half jerked in response. He was good at that, at knowing exactly how to stimulate you, at bringing you to the edge of orgasm with just a touch--

\--Beetlejuice stopped. 

The break in the wave of pleasure when he removed his hand was unwelcome and you almost, almost groaned. 

He didn’t leave you hanging, however, with a knowing smirk he sucked his fingers once again and since you were still laying beside him with your legs wantonly open, he dropped his hand back to your pussy. Instead of teasing your clit again, however, his fingers slipped lower and drove into you.

Despite the hand over your mouth and your conviction, you moaned. 

Immediately you felt panic in your chest. 

“Oh baby, that sound is _beautiful,”_ Beetlejuice praised in a voice that was leaden with his own arousal. 

You tried to believe him. 

“Ready to continue?” he asked, with his fingers still buried in your pussy.

Although you didn’t remove your hand from your mouth, you nodded. 

_“Good . . .”_

He began finger fucking you in earnest. The two fingers he used were just narrow enough that there was no resistance as he plunged them in and out of you. A third might have been nice, but from experience you both knew that would be a different kind of pleasure: less movement, more stretching. With two fingers he could also curl them more easily inside you, searching for that spot inside that made you grind down onto his hand. 

When your response informed him he’d found it, he grinned and didn’t repeat the motion. Instead, he kept his fingers second-knuckle deep inside you and pressed into your clit with the meaty part of his palm. 

Electricity shot through you and you sucked in a breath. Not exactly a noise, but close. 

Then he left that pressure off too, and managed to earn a slight groan of protest in return. 

That made him smirk, like he just learned a secret.

With no further warning, Beetlejuice alternated what his hand did: from fingers pushing into your g-spot to his palm against your clit. He repeated the movement over and over and over and--

\--it was too much. 

From deep in your chest, up through your throat, despite the muffling effect of your palm pressed tightly against your mouth, another moan erupted out of you. 

For a moment Beetlejuice didn’t say anything. His hand continued its rocking, pushing you closer and closer to a peak of bliss that was so good and now so close. 

You moaned again, and for a second the fear and shame that had shackled you fought against your pleasure. A strangled noise, a mixture of the warring fractions, the worst noise ever, slipped out of you. Mortification wanted to gag you; you wanted to be mute and less embarrassing--

“You sound so good,” Beetlejuice said quietly, in your ear. There was no hint of sarcasm or deceit in his voice. “I love it, baby. That moan--knowing I did that to you, knowing that you’re feeling so good, fuck, babydoll, your voice is so pretty--”

Fear and shame stumbled in their attempts to suppress you. A louder moan came from you.

“--that’s it baby, I love it, can you be louder for me? Do my fingers in your pussy make you feel so good you could cry out? Is it so good you could you _say my name,_ baby?”

Fear and shame retreated, rolled over by one moan after another as Beetlejuice’s hand continued to work its relentless magic on your pussy. The edge of that peak was approaching at breakneck speed, and after only a few more moments, you tumbled over it with a sound that started as an open-mouthed cry that you choked off in the middle. It stilled his hand with pressure on both your g-spot and clit. 

The ecstasy undulated through you, and your voice wavered down to a whine. When you ran out of breath and the muscles throughout your body released all their tension, you melted into the mattress. You felt weak and drained, and your throat was itchy. 

Carefully, Beetlejuice eased his hand away from you. Your pussy felt warm but empty.

You kept your eyes closed, because you didn’t want to see the imagined look of ridicule or disgust on his face. 

Instead of any of that, however, Beetlejuice stayed close to your ear and told you, “That was a wonderful start, baby. You want to keep going? I’d like to hear you again . . .”

Only slightly worried that agreeing would make you sound needy, you nodded, thinking he’d finally move between your legs to fill the spot his hand had vacated. It surprised you, then, when he did move, but it was to lay prone on the bed while pulling you over him. 

“I want you on top, baby. I want to watch you, okay? You get to decide how fast or slow or deep or anything you want, so long as it makes you feel good. So long as those wicked sounds come out of your mouth. Okay? Christ, listening to you made me so horny--”

You still had some difficulty wrapping your brain around his praise and the fact that he was so turned on, but you couldn’t deny his arousal as he continued to shift you so you were over him.

On one knee, you reached between the two of you to hold his cock steady, then lowered yourself down onto him.

“--just like that, baby, oohhh--” Beetlejuice groaned. 

As he filled you, a groan wiggled from your lips too. He grinned up at you through his pleasure. 

In a moment, he was completely seated in you. You readjusted your leg so both knees were on the mattress at his sides. You paused to catch your breath. 

“It’s hard not to fuck you, babydoll. I want you to just hang on and enjoy the ride, but I also wanna have you in control--”

“You mean me do all the work?” you teased. 

The ghost grinned, and that was enough of an answer. 

You shook your head and rocked. His cock slipped easily in and out of your pussy, and feeling bold, your moan matched his. Beetlejuice’s hands grabbed your thighs in response, and you did it again. The friction made a sweet vibration blossom in your core, and you let yourself gasp and groan in time with it. 

“That’s it, that’s it--” Beetlejuice encouraged below you, “--that’s a beautiful sound--”

Suddenly, him being able to form words was too much. He kept saying that he wanted to hear you, but you wanted to hear him. 

You planted your palms on his chest to steady yourself, and you fucked him hard. 

It took him by surprise, but he didn’t protest. Beetlejuice lost his words, and the moans that you helped create in him made it easy for you to copy. Because you didn’t have a hand over your mouth, you felt exposed, but that feeling faded and soon the sounds that erupted from you came easily, explosively.

You were speeding towards another orgasm and you laughed. You _laughed._ His cock so deep inside you, your decision setting the pace, your control of your own pleasure filled you with an all-encompassing bliss. You came and halted your movement so his pubic bone was perfectly situated on your clit as the ecstasy overtook you. The cry you gave was loud, just as he’d requested. 

When you were finally able to open your eyes again, Beetlejuice was still grinning up at you. 

“That was amazing, baby,” he told you sincerely. “You sounded so hot.”

A blush warmed your cheeks as you panted to catch your breath. “Thanks . . . ?” 

He tugged your arms to make you lower your torso to his. 

“What position would you like now?” you asked, your mouth almost on his. 

“None. I’m good.”

You lifted your head to look at him more clearly. “No really. What do you want now?”

“I think I’d like to just rest up till round two.”

You knew you looked confused, until realization dawned on you, and you asked, “You came?”

He shrugged a shoulder and nodded at the same time. Immediately you were aghast. 

“I didn’t know! I’m so sorry!” you babbled. “I was so caught up in me I didn’t even realize you’d come--”

“It’s okay, babes,” he interrupted. “It is perfectly okay. I’m glad you let loose and were so overwhelmed you didn’t realize it!”

You searched his face for any indication he was lying or upset, but didn’t find any. As a matter of fact, he shifted one hip and pushed you to the opposite side so you’d move off of him. The sensation of his cock slipping out of you elicited another small gasp as you settled beside him. 

“Mmm. That was good. I could get used to hearing you,” he said. 

“Me too,” you admitted quietly.

_fin!_


End file.
